Beginning to Thaw
by JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon tries to persuade Illya to ask a woman on a date.


_Closed off from love  
I didn't need the pain  
Once or twice was enough  
And it was all in vain  
Time starts to pass  
Before you know it you're frozen_

 _-Keep Bleeding Love, Leona Lewis_

…..

"Go over and ask her on a date," Napoleon urged when he noticed his partner staring at the newest member of the translations division.

Ordinarily, it was Solo who was first in when there was a new woman in the building. However, when he'd seen Illya's eyes practically glaze over, he decided to take a step back. He knew the Russian was hardly a monk, yet it was still rare to see him show his interest in a woman so openly. Not that he could blame him. Molly Glover was a petite brunette, with green eyes, and shy smile. More importantly, she was intelligent, confident, funny, and could speak several languages. It was no wonder she had attracted the eye of his friend.

"I do not wish to date anyone," Illya replied, pulling his attention away from Molly. "Besides, we are heading out on an assignment in a few hours."

"All the more reason to ask her now, and arrange something for your return."

For the briefest of moments, Napoleon could see the conflict in Illya's eyes. It was clear that the man was quite taken with Miss Glover and wanted to wine and dine her.

"I am not you, my friend," Illya finally stated. "It can wait."

Napoleon shrugged and gave up for the moment. There would be time following the mission to engineer a date between the two.

…..

Illya forced his eyes to open, hissing as consciousness brought with it the memory of the torture which had rendered him insensible in the first place. Squinting up at the tiny, barred windows, from the damp cell floor, he realised it was daylight. At least one night had therefore passed since he'd been captured while providing a decoy for Napoleon.

With a lot of effort, Illya pulled himself into a sitting position and assessed his situation. He'd been stripped of his clothing and dressed in an over-sized coverall. Thrush were finally beginning to figure out that all U.N.C.L.E. agents carried a plethora of concealed equipment. Glancing around the concrete box he was being held in, Illya realised he wouldn't be able to escape even he were fully equipped. The bars on the window would be easy to remove with the correct explosive, but the gaps were barely big enough for something the size of a large domestic cat. As for the door, it was solid steel with no locks or hinges visible on his side. He would have to await rescue; assuming his captors didn't return first.

Closing his eyes, he tried not to think about the pains which were wracking his body. Entirely unbidden, the image of Molly Glover came to his mind. Other than offering her a welcome greeting Illya had had no interaction with her, yet from the moment he'd seen her, his loins had been stirring. He couldn't claim that it was anything other than pure animal lust, but it was still something it was wary of indulging in. Lust could so easily lead to something deeper.

Illya Kuryakin was often given the nickname of 'Ice Prince'; mainly because of his serious, no-nonsense persona, but also because he very rarely dated. The thing that most people weren't privy to, however, was that Illya had never recovered from losing the only woman he had completely given his heart to. They were to be married but, two weeks before the wedding, his fiancée had been killed when a car had hit her as she crossed the street. Rumour had it that she was killed for being a dissident, but Illya clung to the belief that it had been nothing but an accident. From the day he'd lost her, he'd begun to wear the thin gold band which had been intended for her hand.

As he wondered if rescue was ever going to come, Illya began to ask himself where the harm would be in asking Molly out to dinner. There was nothing say it would lead to anything and, even if it did, he was a man with needs. Before he could begin to properly weigh up the pros and cons, the sound of the door opening brought him back to his painful reality. Illya braced himself for another round of questioning.

"Are you going to sit there all day, Tovarisch," Napoleon asked, as he stepped into the cell.

"Only if you don't help me up," Illya replied snarkily, failing to keep the relieved smiled from his face.

Laughing, Solo helped his partner to his feet and was surprised, given his injuries, at the speed at which the man left the cell.

"What's the hurry?" he called out.

"I have a date to plan," Illya replied, leaving his partner standing with his mouth agape.


End file.
